


Oh, What Big Hands You Have!

by tourdefierce



Category: The Eagle | Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dirty Talk, Drug Use, Hipsters, Intoxication, M/M, Public Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-06
Updated: 2012-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-29 01:36:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tourdefierce/pseuds/tourdefierce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Esca is a fucking hipster, he owns this fucking town and he's looking to get fucked and wear a cardigan. Holla.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh, What Big Hands You Have!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to lolafeist for the beta.
> 
> Originally posted to LJ: April 22nd, 2011.

It's nothing. It's whatever. It's fine.

<3<3<3

He doesn't know long he's been here. He doesn't know where he came from. He's just here, constantly breathing the smokey air of the pub and the old, musky smell of mothballs from ancient men's cardigans.

He buys cardigans for himself at thrift stores and watches them wrap his too thin chest—watches them cover up the thick traces of ink all over his skin. He fingers the holes that litter the seams and when he slides his finger inside, it feels more comforting than any sex he's ever had and that, _that's_ the secret. So when he smiles wide, walking down the street, he's fucking those holes with his pointer finger—fingerbanging—those tiny holes and loving it.

No one knows.

He walks down the street and bares his teeth. He walks until his feet hurt. He walks until he's tired and then he turns around, fleeing back the way he came.

<3<3<3

The bar has low lights from all the burnt out bulbs that Esca is supposed to replace but doesn't. It's his bar now and he can do whatever the hell he wants. There is an old man, too old to still be working, who runs his bar late into the night. Esca hires gritty-twinks to work under him and enjoys the way they cower when the old man, Bernie, yells with yellow teeth and spittle threatening to break loose.

Esca sits on top of the pool tables, drinks lager out of martini glasses and cruises whenever the fuck he likes.

There are all these overlapping lenses now since the bar fell into Esca's hands. The ancient men who smoke cigars and fight over football refuse to move their hang out. Esca swears they multiply, which should be impossible because they're like barnacles, but they're there everyday to play poker, yell at the barmen, beat Esca at pool and scowl at _everyone_. The rest of the bar's occupants are all Esca's fault. If he thought the regulars were scowling because of the other clientele, he'd make some noise but he's completely sure that their faces are just stuck that way, peering through the smoke to glare and grumble.

Because the rest of Esca's bar is overrun with fags. He's fairly known on the local bar circuit, with his full sleeves and his piercings and his mouth, spiteful and always full of lager and cock. Naturally, when all the queens, bears, gym-bunnies and the rest of the queer community finds out that Esca, _yes that Esca_ , owns a bar at the corner of the Tenderloin they all show up. It becomes a local hang out, a place that's still dark and gloomy without a trace of electronic music and the tellies around the bar always have the local match on. It's seedy enough to have a go in the bathroom without too much fuss from anyone other than Bernie—it's just, a different crowd.

Today, there are four drag queens playing cards when Esca walks in. It's eleven in the morning.

"Morning ladies," Esca says, tilting his fedora toward them.

"Mr. Esca, you are looking just about as fine as Jezebel today," one of them says, whistling and waving her long fingers at him.

Esca winks. "You all are as dazzling as usual, ladies. I'd join you but I've got shit to do."

The four smile behind their drinks, someone makes a joke about his tattoos and they go back to their card game, occasionally screaming at each other and fighting about who will buy the next baggie. It brightens Esca day.

He meets with Bernie and listens to him groan about the price of cider for as long as he can possibly take it before Esca gives in to rolling a cigarette and resisting his urge to reach across the bar to gouge Bernie's eyes out. Two hours later, Bernie looks pleased with the amount of pain he's inflicted and goes back to serving the four queens drinks. They flirt with his wrinkled face and Bernie doesn't crack a single smile.

Esca would bet a fuckin' tenner that Bernie has a crush on one of those T-Ts and it's reasons like that which compel Esca not to sell the pub to the highest bidder and fuck off to Ibiza with endless supplies of lube and speed.

Whatever.

It's fine.

<3<3<3

Whiskey Wednesdays is also the pool tourney night. Esca hates whiskey; it's too sweet on his tongue and makes his stomach roll if he's not too careful, but the bar fills up and Bernie has to call in Cher (who doesn't look anything _like_ Cher but he insists that Cher is his spirit animal and no one argues with that sort of fierceness).

Cher's pissed but looking fuckable in the low lights of the bar, bickering with Bernie and sassing the customs as much as possible. Customer service is not really a high priority. They're snobs.

Esca isn't worried.

He makes he way to the bar to make sure everything is fine. Bernie growls for him to help out but Esca just rolls his eyes and gives him two fingers. He picks up glasses anyway, going around to say hello to the people he knows, the people he's fucked and the people he will most likely fuck in the future. He buses as many tables as he feels like before getting distracted by a pool game and shots with men burly enough to tear down the bar with their bare hands.

It's hot.

He's drinking lager that tastes a lot like vodka by the time he fights he way out of the pool game, hard as a rock in his too-tight, black jeans. There's a gym-bunny sitting at the bar, who keeps staring at him each time he tilts his head back to laugh and had been distracting enough for Esca to lose a couple of quid in the game. Esca eyes him, licking his lips and generally being a drunken slag because he can.

He does a lot of things because he can.

Like climbing onto the bar and letting all the queers pressure Bernie's friends to take tequila shots out of his belly button.

He gets hell for his tattoos because the old timers don't want to put their mouths anywhere near his "filthy youngster adventures". Esca has no idea what that means but he doesn't hesitate to meet gym-bunnie’s eyes as someone’s grandfather sucks booze off his skin.

The bitch _blushes_ and Esca smiles wide, wiping his stomach with a bar towel and taking a moment to check him out. He's tall, shoulders broad and thick with muscle that makes Esca lick his lips. There's a beer in his hand, half empty and he looks fairly awkward, brow wrinkled and mouth pouty as if it absolutely needs to suck on someone’s nipples. His skin is tan, too tan for England anyway, and Esca watches as the flush blends back into skin. He takes another pull of his bottle, looking away from Esca's assessment.

He's fucking hot.

Esca looks away when Bernie starts yammering away about how this is not the kind of pub he wants his named tied to but then everyone starts hollering again and Bernie goes back to pretending not to smile. Esca slips off the bar, palming Cher's arse on his way to the muscled delight at the end of the bar.

"Can I get you another drink?"

Esca doesn't even stop himself from leaning across the bar and invading the man's space, wrapping his hand around the man's slim wrist.

"Oh," he says, as if he's actually surprised that Esca came over. "Sure. Um, yes. That'd be fine."

Esca shakes his head, pulls his hand away like it burns, and walks away, livid at the universe.

He needs a bloody smoke.

<3<3<3

The alley is dark, blessedly cool and not quiet enough to hear himself think, not that Esca thinks much when he's this drunk but there's no need to take a risk.

He's taking his first drag when the door next to him bursts open.

"You lost?" Esca says, not even bothering to remove the fag from his lips.

The muscle from before is staring at him, anger clearly written in the tick of his jaw and Esca is turned on despite himself.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Esca shrugs. "Lots of things."

"You spent the last twenty minutes eye-fucking me and then you just up and leave? What the hell man?"

Esca inhales and shakes his head. He is really not in the mood for this shit.

"Listen, mate," Esca says, before he points at the man's crotch. "You Yanks have small cocks and that's not really what I'm lookin' for tonight, all right? I want to be slaughtered tonight, so jog on yeah?"

The street lamp catches the look of shock all over his devastatingly attractive face, all very American Golden Boy, before his face turns to fury and Esca gets a twisted thrill over such an ugly face expression on such a gorgeous man.

"You're fucking _insane_ ," the American says, putting his hand up and turning toward the door.

Esca catches his hand, wraps his palm around the man's pointer and middle finger with as much dexterity as can be expected this pissed.

The Yank still looks furious, but he doesn't leave the alley. Esca taps his cigarette.

"What?"

Esca shrugs. "You've got awfully large fingers, I might be wrong about your prick."

"You might?" The man snarls and Esca's cock twitches in interest.

"No need to get your panties in a twist, Yank. I know what I want," Esca says, rubbing his fingers up and down the two digits in his hand. They are very, very thick. "Wanna make a deal?"

He looks like he's about to leave, fed up with Esca's shit but then he lets go of the door with his other hand and Esca takes his cue, backing him up against the door.

"An audition, beefcake."

"Beefcake?"

Esca smirks around his cigarette. "You have very beefy shoulders."

The man just shakes his head, like Esca is ridiculous and then he smiles, sly and perfect and yeah, Esca wants him even more.

"My name is Marcus."

"Whatever, sugar. How about this? You want to fuck me, I get that, practically everybody wants to fuck me but I've tried American cock before and it's just not big enough," Esca starts, pressing further and further until his entire body is pressed against the man's muscle. "But you are such a pretty thing and you've got very, very nice fingers."

Marcus' eyes flash, his body arching into Esca's touch but his mouth stays set. Stubborn arseholes are such a turn on.

"Beef—"

" _Marcus_."

Esca smiles, dark and hungry, and throws his cigarette behind him.

"Right, how about we audition your rhythm?"

Then Esca takes those really lovely, thick fingers and puts them in his mouth. He watches the Yank, _Marcus_ , as he sucks and fucking slobbers all over those two fingers. They taste like soap and maybe paper but Esca is distracted by the way Marcus' mouth drops open slightly, lips parted and panting. He's positively delicious.

Esca sucks off his fingers like they’re a cock, rutting his own stiffy against Marcus' hip until the Yank shoves a thigh between Esca's legs and lets him ride it—it's wide, thick with muscle and Esca moans as he ruts against it.

His lips pop off the fingers and Esca spends a few hot seconds grinding against his thigh, head back in pleasure, before he tilts forward and says, "You fuck me with those fingers and if you're good, I might let you—"

Esca's face meets the brick softly, the wind knocked out of his lungs as Marcus presses up against him with all of his weight. Esca moans, he can't help it, as he's pinned to the wall from Marcus' girth.

"You're a bastard," Marcus snarls but his voice is hot against Esca's neck, biting and sucking on the skin here. Esca feels his skin go live with goosebumps as Marcus’ fingers trace the tattoo cheekily placed across Esca’ lower back "You're going to be fucking yourself on my _whole goddamn hand_ and begging for my cock before I'm done with you."

The breath is forced out of his lungs as Marcus grinds against the crack of his arse and oh, _oh_ what a pleasant surprise.

"You fucking bitch," he breathes out, but he arches into the thick press of Marcus' cock against him, moaning when Marcus’ hands, those lovely, lovely hands, push at his shoulders until he’s almost flat against the door, his arse presented for Marcus to thrust against.

"And you're a fucking slut," Marcus' replies, before sinking his teeth into Esca's shoulder and making him moan.

"Fuck me then."

Marcus keeps one hand splayed between Esca's shoulders, just _holding him there_ and it makes Esca harder, being held down with so little effort from the larger man. Esca pants, squirming in arousal as he feels Marcus root around for lube and works Esca's jeans down with one hand.

"Jesus Christ," he hears behind him and he rotates his hips as much as possible, putting his arse on display and oh for fuck's sake—

"Come on then!" He snarls out and there is a pause before Marcus brings one of those broad hands down across Esca's arse cheek with a smack.

Esca's cock weeps, his jeans dropping to the ground and leaving him exposed to the night and to Marcus. He's never been more grateful for his decision to skip wearing pants in his life.

Marcus smacks him again, too hard and it's good—the way his hand lingers, caressing the hot skin and swiping down between his cheeks to stop, pressing with ruthless determination on the skin between his balls and his entrance.

Esca whines. "Just do it already, yeah? Fuck me full of those delicious fingers."

Marcus snorts behind him but presses one impossibly thick finger inside of him without any lube. Esca twists, the stretch immediate and just writhes as Marcus doesn't stop, just pushes all the way inside.

"Holy fuck!"

Marcus doesn't make a sound and it's hot, such a fucking turn on and Esca moans, his voice loud and desperate in the alley.

"Oh God that's good," Esca pants out, his arse twisting down to chase Marcus' finger when he withdraws to swirl and trace his hole. "More, give me more."

There's a faint chuckle before Marcus' finger returns, slick with lube, and rams inside of him. The force, the thick blunt pressure, is almost enough to lift Esca off his feet and when it disappears, Marcus comes back with two.

"Oh fuck, yesyesyes, fuck yes," Esca yells, twisting his body back and forth on the width of those fingers. Even just two of them feel like a cock, a smaller one, but still, it's enough to make his knees shake.

Marcus gets to work then, not moving them in any direction but in and out, stretching him out until it's an easy slide. He pauses when Esca is a little sloppy, hole loose and easy around his fingers.

"Come on," Esca hisses, when Marcus' fingers don't reenter but dance across his back and the tops of his thighs to trace his tattoos again. "You said your whole hand. Don't tease, you fuckin'—"

Esca screams, pleasure and pain twisting inside of him as four fingers slam into him, lifting him off the ground and oh _god_ it's good, too good. Marcus leans closer, as his hand starts to thrust in earnest, not even letting Esca adjust to the thickness, way thicker than any cock Esca has ever taken but it's so fucking good, he just slams into Esca, using his hole—and _oh_. He bites at Esca's neck, shoving all his fingers except his thumb inside of Esca's body like he owns everything Esca has to give.

"Oh fuck, yes," Esca screams. He's probably crying but he can't even feel his face anymore, all the nerves focused on that glorious hand fucking up inside of him and there, a knuckle catching on Esca's prostate and curling hard to jab at it. Esca claws at the surface in front of him, too far gone to even understand that his cock is there, hard and so wet with precome that it’s leaking down to coat his balls.

Esca gets a hand underneath him to push back onto it, whining and oh yes, he's certainly crying now. Marcus' other hand comes to wrap around his chest so that Esca is wrenched away from the wall.

"Bend your knee," Marcus' gravelled voice says and Esca can do nothing but obey, bending and pulling his knee up until it's the only thing that separates him from the wall. The change in position has Esca literally sitting himself on Marcus' hand and his knuckle grinds, unforgiving, against Esca's prostate.

"Marcus, oh fuckfuckfuck," Esca cries. It's too much, too fast, oh, he can't believe this. "I'm going to—"

"Yeah," Marcus whispers, like he's in awe—like Esca is the beautiful one here and then Esca is coming, cock bouncing against his stomach with the force of his orgasm. He comes with a cry, high-pitched and crazy with the pleasure rocketing through him as Marcus fucks into him, a constant too-intense pressure against Esca's prostate. He comes so hard it hits him in the fucking neck but he's too busy turning his head and sinking his teeth into the thick tendons of Marcus' neck to care.

He might black out for a few moments because when he starts to breathe again, Marcus is down to just two fingers inside of him, slowly rocking into him as he comes down.

"Jesus-bloody-fucking—" Esca curses out in a sigh, so blissed out he can hardly hold himself up. Well, he's not holding himself up. He's completely limp in Marcus' arms as Marcus works him down, slipping one more finger out until it's just one.

Esca whines. Marcus tuts.

"You’re so _hungry for it_ ," Marcus says and maybe it's supposed to be funny but Esca can hear the desperation in Marcus' voice, and the wonder.

"I will admit to being more than a little taken with your fingerbanging technique," Esca says quietly, getting the energy up to lift a hand to his face and wipe the tears from his cheeks. He's never come that hard before. Never without being touched and the times he's cried during sex, bloody-hell, Esca can count them all on one hand.

Marcus finally slips the last finger out and Esca has to hold his breath, his mouth wanting to go and betray his complete and utter desolation of being left so empty. They stay that way, Esca limp with pleasure and Marcus making tiny, aborted little twitches with his hips until Esca is steady on his feet again.

Esca doesn't trust himself to completely let go of Marcus but he does trust his legs. When he swings around, he lets the momentum take them, his knee going to push at Marcus' hip until Marcus' back is against the wall and Esca's hand is wrapped around the back of his neck.

His other hand is massaging Marcus' cock through his jeans.

"Impressive," Esca says, voice condescending and cruel as he grips Marcus' cock past the point of pleasure, he's sure. "For a _Yank_."

"What the—"

Marcus' eyes are wide, pain and pleasure making him arch and scramble away from Esca's touch. Before he can say anything else though, Esca is taking his lips in a kiss that mirrors the brutal pace he's set to stripping the man's cock through his jeans. It's hot and hungry, Marcus whining into the kiss with little hesitation as Esca maps his mouth with his tongue. Esca fucks his mouth, licking his teeth and sucking on his lips until Marcus is in pieces, riding Esca's hand to the point of pain and _fucking loving it_.

Esca pulls away to bite his way down Marcus' chiseled jaw line, sucking bruises there so that everyone can see, and squeezing Marcus' dick harder.

"Oh—uh," Marcus cries out and Esca smiles, burying his face into Marcus' neck and looking between them as Marcus just fucks into his hand.

"God, you fucking gorgeous thing," Esca says, licking at the skin of Marcus' neck. "All thick muscle and Jesus, I bet your cock is pretty too. It's bigger than most, not thicker than those fingers but not bad, not bad at all."

Esca reaches down and tugs hard on Marcus' balls, biting his neck.

"Your fingers though, I could ride them all night long—maybe your cock, too. If you're good, if you're good and you come for me, all over the inside of your designer jeans, you posh fucker, if you're good and you come in your pants, like a fucking slag, I'll sit on your face before you stuff me full of your cock."

Marcus comes on a growl.

Esca would like to pretend he doesn’t watch the way Marcus' lips are chapped and desperate; the way his voice is gravel-deep and yearning; the way he lets Esca practically rip his dick off and just takes it, face slack as the front of his jeans are soaked through with come.

Esca has to physically stop himself from sinking to his knees and lapping at all the come he knows is right beneath his hand. He mouth _waters for it_. Instead, he sucks a mark twice the size of his mouth on Marcus' throat and steps back when he's done.

When Marcus opens his eyes, they're bright green and way too gorgeous for Esca.

"Not bad," Esca repeats, licking his lips and moving from Marcus' face to his soaking crotch. He leans in, their lips almost touching. "Not bad for a Yank."

He pushes Marcus off the door, wiggles into his jeans and disappears into the pub without looking back.

He gets lost in the crowd fast, picking up whatever drink is on the table and finding the nearest room to escape into. He finds a few regulars doing blow in the office, perfect white lines laid out on the folder of expense reports.

He drops to his knees, keying up and lets himself breathe for a minute. His arse aches, missing the thick feed of Marcus' fingers and the phantom promise of his cock. He knows he looks a right mess, hickeys all over his neck and sweat soaking through his shirt but he doesn't care.

It's whatever. It’s nothing. It's fine.

Esca does two lines and drinks himself into oblivion.

It's only until sunrise that he realizes he didn't see Marcus again.

<3<3<3

He wakes up on the floor behind the bar, Bernie standing over him with a foghorn.

"Get up you drunken queer."

Esca rolls over and nuzzles the floor of his bar. "Good morning to you too, Bernie."

But Bernie is already stomping off, muttering, "Ya fuckin' worthless piece of shite."

Esca smiles.

It's going to be a good day.

An hour later, Esca jerks off in the shower to memories of Marcus hand up his arse, the shame of his tears making him comes even harder. When he gets out of the shower, he shakes his head, as if to remove the memory and gets dressed with shaking fingers that he blames on dehydration.

The queens are already seated in the booth, cooing at someone or something Esca can't see. He takes a few painkillers and washes them back with Strongbow that already eases his headache. Bernie is glaring at him even fiercer than normal.

"What?" He asks, fingering his cardigan and resisting the urge to make a rude hand gesture at Bernie this early in the morning.

The old codger just snorts and turns around with his usual look of disgust. Esca rolls his eyes, wraps a scarf around his neck and heads for the door.

"Not even going to say hi? Aren't you a naughty girl, you fine thing," one of the queens calls out.

Esca shakes his head, turning around and heading toward their booth. It's an odd angle and he doesn't see everyone until he gets closer and then—

"I see you've acquired a new play thing since yesterday," he says carefully, the smirk playing at his lips as Marcus, in all his broad-shouldered glory, comes into view.

Marcus, bless his Yank-heart, doesn't bat an eyelash. Simply stares at Esca as he approaches, blank face and so very sexy.

The queen closest to him, Divine Miss M, puts her hands all over Esca’s chest, moving his cardigan out of the way to finger his tattoos and flick his nipple ring with her long nails.

"Did you get more?"

The one sitting next to Marcus laughs. "Girl, the only new thing on Esca are those hickeys. I thought I told you not to put out on the first date, baby?"

Esca smiles, leaning down to kiss Miss M's cheek and then catches Marcus' eye. "I thought you said it was alright if I planned on seeing him again?"

Marcus' eyes go a little wide and Esca watches the blush work up his cheeks.

"Oooo," Miss M squeals. "Is he that good in bed?"

"Shush, M. I bet he's a nice young man," someone else says.

Esca laughs, leaning forward. "He's got big hands... and you all know what that means."

Miss M pats his cheek.

"That you're more of a size queen than any of us will ever be, you little slag."

The whole room laughs, the conversation moving on with a few insults and Esca nods to all the ladies, bidding them all good day. He has no doubt he’ll be seeing Marcus again, if he has anything to do about it—his mind already filling with all the filthy things he wants to do to that man.

He doesn't bother to hide his limp on the way out.


End file.
